


I Am Done With My Graceless Heart

by catteo



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't really understand how they became friends...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Done With My Graceless Heart

Luke walks out of 15 into the freezing blast just in time to see Andy getting into the passenger seat of Sam’s car. Pretends he doesn’t see the hope in her eyes as she leans towards the man she chose. Closes his eyes, takes a deep, shaking breath of the wintry Toronto air. Relishes the burning in his lungs as a counter to the ice in his veins. Almost convinces himself that the lump in his throat that stops him from swallowing is just a reaction to the cold. 

“Hey, homicide. Took you long enough. Let’s roll.”

Peck’s there slouched in the shadows, studying his face with a vaguely amused look. He considers telling her that he’s not interested in going to the Penny. All he wants to do is drown his sorrows in some anonymous bar. But there’s a challenge in Gail’s eyes. And Luke’s never been one to turn down a challenge. So instead he shrugs and leads her towards his car. Later he wonders if this was the moment that everything stopped making sense. The moment that the wreckage of his previously well ordered life began to develop a mind of its own. He knows that his reaction has something to do with the lack of pity on her face. He’s pretty certain that she’s offering him a lifeline. He knows he’s drowning. That he can’t afford to turn it down.

+++

She babysits him for the next three hours. Diaz and Epstein wander over at some point with huge grins on their faces. They’re like puppies in their shared enthusiasm. Run on sentences describing their glee that Swarek got out in mostly one piece, talking over each other in their excitement. Dov starts waxing lyrical about how awesome Sam is, what a great role model. How he single-handedly took down a psychopath. 

“You mean, how he single-handedly almost got himself killed?”

He doesn’t mean it to come out like it does, like he’s jealous. Envy seeping out between his words. Twining around them like a lover. He wonders if the anger that’s simmering just below the surface is going to choose this inopportune time to break free. He knows it’s ridiculous. _He_ is ridiculous. He can tell from the looks on the faces in front of him that they feel sorry for him. Gail’s got an eyebrow raised. A look on her face that says louder than words that he’s being an idiot. She changes the subject. Acts the bitch until they leave. He never realized before that it was just a part she played to keep her heart safe. He feels like a fool. He’s getting used to it.

+++

The following day there’s a homicide downtown. Pieces of evidence, and bits of a body, turning up in the most unlikely places. There’s a constant murmur coming from the general direction of Chris and Dov. He’s a big enough person to admit to himself that he’s mad. Irritated that they like Sam better than him. Which leads him to the irrefutable fact that, right now, _everyone_ likes Swarek better than him. He has made some pretty poor life choices of late, and it turns out that there really are no takebacks.

“Diaz. Epstein.”

“Sir?” He’d find them amusing if he weren’t in the middle of having some sort of existential crisis. He wonders if this is what having a breakdown feels like.

“Dumpster duty.”

Their groans put a forced smirk on his face. It gets wider as he hears the word _nice_ roll off Gail’s tongue. The word sounding totally insincere, and drawn out to match the utterly unsympathetic look she throws their way. He wonders when the hell he got this petty. Justifies it by reminding himself that Peck got rid of them for _him_ last night. That he owes her. Feels the smile finally reach his eyes as she shoots him a grin.

+++

Three weeks later and they’re back at work. SamandAndy, AndyandSam. That’s how they are in his head now. Some inseparable entity that’s driving him crazy. He throws himself into his work with a degree of one-track-mindedness that surprises even him. Every time he talks about a case in parade he can see them staring at each other. It’s absurd. They ride together more often than not and he fails to see how either of them could forget what the other looks like, but facts are facts. There seems to be some understanding that they’ll fly under the radar, but the way that they’re practically undressing each other with their eyes is anything but inconspicuous. He’s pretty sure Swarek’s doing it on purpose to torment him. Nobody calls another guy ‘buddy’ that many times and means it. 

+++

He’s desperate for a caffeine fix but, as he goes to head out the door, there they are at the damn coffee station. Swarek and McNally (he finds it hurts less if he thinks of them that way). All goofy grins and shared jokes. Like there’s some gravitational pull that holds them together. Keeps them in each other’s orbits. He doesn’t think she ever looked at him like that. He’s beginning to think that he should have just called it quits the night he found Sam’s name in her freezer, magnified through the icy glass. Saved himself some heartache. Saved himself from being such a monumental fuck-up.

“What are we looking at?”

Gail’s suddenly there at his shoulder with two cups of coffee and a look of amusement. She keeps doing this. He’ll be buried in some case for hours and he’ll look up to find her sitting on the desk opposite him, kicking her heels. A look of boredom on her face. As though he’s there solely to amuse her. He’s grateful for the distraction most of the time. Not that she needs to know that. He wonders when it was she decided he was worth trying to save. The vulnerability that surrounded her a few weeks ago has gone. He feels off kilter now, like they no longer have a shared tragedy. 

“Ahh. They’re cute. It’s your fault y’know.”

He knows. He absolutely knows. He has only himself to blame. The knowledge of that doesn’t actually make it any easier. He tells her so. Considers telling her, too, about the night he got drunk and phoned Jo. Some idiotic idea of apologizing, telling her that there was a time she meant everything to him. That she was never a mistake. She hung up on him. He deserved it.  
He hasn’t called Andy. He doesn’t even know where to start. He knows he has no right to be angry. Jealous. Resentful. He was the one that made all the mistakes. The one who took her happiness and burnt it to the ground. The one who turned his own life into ashes and dust. She looks happy. The part of him that’s trying hard to be a better man recognizes that she’s probably _with_ the better man. He basically hates himself, is the thing.

Gail looks expectant, head tilted, lower lip caught between her teeth. So he thanks her for the sympathy. She laughs, heads towards the door, pauses. Tells him to man up. He manages a wry grin. Feels the heavy weight of his own failures lift a little. 

+++

He’s only here because Gail said it was an emergency. Met him at the door, handed him a beer, and vanished towards the back room. He sinks onto the sofa and is confronted by a cat who is most definitely not pleased at being disturbed. It’s odd. He didn’t picture her as a cat person. She’s remarkably evasive when he asks about it. He’s not a homicide detective for nothing though, finds out pretty fast that it's because Sam has allergies. Wonders out loud what the hell that has to do with anything.

“Pretty difficult to move your cat in with someone who has allergies to it.”

He’s about to ask why you would move your cat in with someone, when suddenly everything makes sense. The conversations that seemed to peter out whenever he walked past. The hug Traci gave Andy before parade the other week. Oliver shouting _“Brother!”_ , and high-fiving Sam in the parking lot. Catching Sam and Andy walking out of the bathrooms at the Penny later the same day. Sam, totally unconcerned, huge smile plastered across his face. Andy bright red, trying desperately to hide the mark on her neck. He considered making some snide remark, but it’s been a while, and he got used to Sam and Andy months ago. Sam and Andy (no longer fused in his mind). Living together. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. That ache of regret, that was almost crippling such a short time ago, barely has an echo.

+++

She ushers him out of her place with a raised eyebrow and a look on her face that he’s pretty sure means trouble. Twenty minutes later they’re in some karaoke bar round the corner from his new apartment. He has no idea how she found out about it. It’s one of those places with no signs on the door and a secret knock or something to get in. She’s full of surprises, Peck. He’s kind of intrigued by how much she hides under that ice queen exterior. Two hours after that, they’re each six shots down, and having some absurd conversation about who wears plaid better. Or, at least, that’s how it started.

“At least my hair doesn’t emote.”

He has no idea what the hell she’s talking about. She finds her own joke hilarious though, throws her head back and laughs. He feels his own lips curve in response. He can feel the alcohol like fire in his veins. He feels her presence like his own heartbeat. He tells himself he doesn’t know how it happens. Wonders when he started trying to pretend that none of this means anything. She’s half way through the second verse of some Bryan Adams song, which he’d forgotten he knew all the words to, when he realizes he’s actually having fun. He’s been so busy living inside his own head that he forgot what it was like to let go. It suddenly feels like he can breathe again. She winks at him and, just as suddenly, everything stops making sense.

+++

They end up stumbling back to his place at 2 in the morning. She’s humming ‘It’s Only Love’ under her breath. Wanted him to do a duet back at the bar. He claims not to know the song. She tells him that he’s lying. That he’s _chicken_. Another round of shots is the only thing that finally shuts her up. He’s fairly certain that he’s not going to hear the last of this. He’d try to distract her if it weren’t for the white noise that seems to have taken up residence inside his skull. He’s not sure when it was that she got under his skin. Equally uncertain how he came to feel that she belongs there.

They reach his place sooner than he’d like, and suddenly he’s mumbling about coffee and not letting her go home alone in this state. Although if he’s honest, she seems perfectly fine, and it’s nothing but an excuse to get her to stay. 

“Smooth moves, homicide. That how you sweet talk all the ladies?”

He manages to grind out a negative against clenched teeth. She’s leaning up against him and he feels like his blood is on fire. She chuckles and suddenly she’s just _there_. Hands everywhere, fisting in his shirt, in his hair. He can still taste the tequila on her tongue. Her shoulders hit the wall and she’s in his arms, legs locked around his hips, thrusting against him. Gasps his name on a shaky, inhaled breath. His hands just grip her tighter, like he’s trying to get rid of the space between them.

+++

Her skin looks almost translucent in the darkness. Beautiful. Softer than he expected. _She_ is softer than he expected. Hot and wet and pliant beneath him. He buries himself inside her and can’t understand how it feels like coming home. She’d laugh if she knew that with every minute he’s praying that this time he’ll do everything right. She deserves more than the man he has shown himself to be.

Her hand ghosts over his hip. Pulls him deeper. Neck exposed, back arched, her breathing desperate and shallow. He licks across her collarbone. Is gratified when she shivers, goosebumps standing out in the shadows. He’s almost surprised by how quiet she is as he feels her come apart in his arms. As he tumbles after, unraveling in all the ways that matter most. He whispers a silent promise that this time he’ll be better. Prove himself to be worthy.

He feels her pulse like a drumbeat under his hands. Wonders if this time he can hold someone else’s heart without ruining it beyond repair. Prays that she will be the strong one. Knows that it’s always darkest before the dawn.

+++


End file.
